


Summertime Sadness

by StealthKaiju



Series: Demonic Chorus [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, NSFW, Shameless Smut, Voyeurism, awkward business negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: ‘Got my baby by my heavenly side’Summertime Sadness by Lana Del ReyPrompt: Public Sex / Voyeurism / Exhibitionism





	Summertime Sadness

‘It’s a very early example of its type – we’re not sure if it could be a Pirou and Kirchner, or one of their imitators. We think it to be the work of their contemporaries rather than a later work that has suffered degradation.’

Aziraphale smiled politely. ‘As fascinating as I’m sure it is, I deal in books Mr Muller, not film.’

The man gave a slight bow with his head. ‘I appreciate that Mr Fell, but you have had dealings with the trustees of the British Library, and I am sure that they may want it for their Private Case.’ The man gave a tight smile. ‘I am not welcome in polite society – the political tensions in Europe make me a – how do you say? – a persona non grata, and I am a smut peddler by trade as well.’ He sighed, and went to pour the two of them a drink. ‘You’ll at least stay to see it?’ he asked, handing over a small glass of port. ‘I think you’d appreciate it.’

‘I’m not really one for spying on ladies disrobing,’ Aziraphale said tartly.

Mr Muller laughed, and smiled showing white straight teeth. ‘I had worked that out for myself Mr Fell.’ He came to stand in Aziraphale’s personal space, leering over him. ‘I am a good salesman because I know my customers.’

Aziraphale could feel himself redden, a ridiculous human habit that he still couldn’t break. ‘I don’t know what you are suggesting-‘

‘You do,’ said Mr Muller sharply, and quickly walked to the back of the room to turn on the projector and turn off the lights. ‘Sit, Mr Fell,’ he said with an edge of steel in his voice and the angel found himself sitting on the sofa facing the screen before he realised what he was doing.

The film was black and white, and there was very little furniture in the shot except an iron bedframe. The angle of the camera was odd with part of the view obscured, almost as if the viewer was a Peeping Tom hiding behind a door. Laying on the bed was a man with a full beard, broad chest covered in hair, sitting up and laying back against the pillow. He took his erect penis into his hand, and lazily began to stroke it.

From the side came another naked man into view, tall and lithe, with long legs, his back to the camera. He walked quickly to the bed and knelt over the other man’s lap, taking the other man into his mouth. This left the viewer with a perfect view of the second man’s thighs and an arse that was pert as a peach, while the original man sat with an expression of ecstasy on his face.

After a minute, the other man turned round to sit on the man’s lap facing away from him, slowly lowering himself onto the man’s cock until he had taken him in completely. He started to run his hand up and down his own erection, and began to roll his hips.

This was where Aziraphale (trying desperately to will away the stone hard erection he had in his trousers – another ridiculous human habit he still couldn’t break) almost fainted in shock. Because now the second man was facing the camera, he could see his face clearly.

He didn’t need the film to be colour to know the man would have gloriously red hair, as vibrant as a Rossetti muse’s, and bright amber eyes.

Dear God and all the saints in Heaven, it was Crowley.

Aziraphale felt his legs turn to jelly as his erection got harder and larger, begging for attention, but he would not, he could not… even if Mr Muller had not been there, even if he had been alone, he couldn’t… Crowley was his associate, his friend, he couldn’t…

Luckily the film stopped quickly, the screen fading to black. There was a moment while the projector was stopped and the film put away. The lights were put on, and Mr Muller perched on the arm of the sofa, smugly triumphant. ‘As you can see, Mr Fell, I do believe the library-‘

‘How much do you want for it?’ Aziraphale said, voice flat.

‘I am not greedy, a modest price for-‘

‘How much?’ Aziraphale said coldly.

Mr Muller’s eyebrows creased slightly, and he looked worried. He said a price and Aziraphale agreed to it instantly.

‘The Englishman really does not like to haggle, does he Mr Fell?’ Mr Muller said, an attempt to diffuse the tension. He sighed, and looked contrite. ‘I perhaps should have warned you, I… I did not mean to offend…’

Aziraphale stood up sharply. ‘None taken Mr Muller.’ He offered a hand and a polite smile. ‘As always, it has been a pleasure.’

Mr Muller took the hand and held it for a few seconds longer than was necessary. ‘You know, a lot of people say that, but I feel you’re the only one I’ve met that genuinely means it.’ He smiled. ‘I hope we meet again soon.’

Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek, in the European style. ‘Stay safe Mr Muller.’

-

Crowley came back from lunch to find a package on his table – the housekeeper had brought it for him. He opened it with tongs (in case), and found the round can where a roll of film was kept. He carefully held part of the reel to the light, to see what was on it.

_Well bugger me,_ he thought.


End file.
